Give Me A Reason
by Flick-chan
Summary: A muggle studies project turns into something of an adventure for Sirius Black...


Author's Notes: Hey all. This is my first stab at a piece of Potter fiction, so please forgive me for this mindless drivel. This fic contains underlying use of religion to enhance theme, so try not to be offended. Enjoy the story. 

Disclaimer: J.K. and Warner Brothers own everything Harry Potter. I'm just doing this for kicks. 

Dedication: For J. This story is a tribute to you - I hope you don't find it an insult to your memory. See you on the other side. 

"Your spirit shines in heaven, 

The light of your rebirth, 

But we do wish with all our hearts, 

You'd come back down to Earth..." 

****************** 

"Give Me a Reason" 

By Flick-chan 

****************** 

"You're next, Black." 

Slipping the sterling silver cross around his neck, Sirius Black fingered the metal nervously. Drops of fresh sweat gathered above his thick, expressive eyebrows. He was out of his depth - and they both knew it. 

This religion thing wasn't a game - some muggles trusted their lives to its telling, and so Sirius presumed that was why they were being forced to experience it first hand. Mockridge had never been the nicest of professors. 

Sirius ran an idle hand through his locks, which had begun to feel unnaturally greasy. Either he had put too much wax on this morning, or he had finally found some form of schoolwork that would give him trouble. He snorted. Peter would be pleased about that - normally he was the one having problems with the excessive amounts of charms, potions, and incantations that they had to learn. Of course, Peter wouldn't have had any trouble in this class - he was muggle born, and this was the kind of thing he was used to doing everyday. 

Sirius on the otherhand...well, he'd been born into a family of wizards that didn't understand the need for muggleborns to be part of their world. They liked to think of themselves as the pride of a diluted race, the cream of an otherwise diseased crop. That was one of the reasons he'd signed up for this class: to outrage his mother further. She already thought him the lowest of the low, even before he'd been sorted into Gryffindor. This was just to make her even more embarrassed at the thought of having a son who actually _enjoyed_ learning the muggle ways of doing things. But he'd never imagined that the non magical way of life would be so difficult... 

Unimpressed by Sirius' attempts to appear scared, Professor Mockridge glared at him and pointed to a wooden box with his wand outstretched. "Don't dawdle, Mr Black," he snapped as Sirius edged past him over to the doorway. "You know that if you don't complete this project, you won't pass my course." 

Sirius rolled his eyes at James who was waiting further down the line. He smiled back, nodding toward the box. Sirius turned, running his gaze up and down the intricate designs on the panels. Mockridge had told them a few minutes ago that this was called a 'confessional', and that muggles used it to confess their sins to God. To Sirius, it didn't really look like anything more than an old wooden crate, big enough for two people to sit inside comfortably. 

His sharp eye caught the triangular pattern on one of the door frames. It vaguely resembled the design on the teacups he and James had stolen from the kitchens a few days ago, and bewitched. Perhaps McGonagall had transfigured them? He wouldn't put it past her. 

He grinned, a sudden vision of patterned china clamping itself down on Lily Evans' nose that night in the common room. James was livid at what Sirius had done, but eventually couldn't contain his amusement, and burst into fits of laughter only seconds later. None too impressed, she'd started a war between the dorms. Sirius' pupils glittered good naturedly, licking his lips in anticipation of the prank he and Remus had planned for tonight - they were going to get the girls back for those exploding dungbombs they'd found in their bedroom. Yes, Filch was going to have a busy day tomorrow... 

A firm gripped his shoulder, turning the doorknob at the same time. "Remember," Professor Mockridge reminded him sternly, "you don't know who's on the otherside of that curtain, so watch your language." He gave Sirius a firm push. "In you go," and slammed the door shut. 

Immersed in a blanket of total darkness, Sirius mulled over lighting his wand to combat the sense of emptyness that had suddenly taken root within him. He soon discarded this idea, knowing full well that Mockridge would be watching his actions. Sirius was enough of a man to know that he didn't want whoever was behind the curtain to know he was scared, he was well aware that expression of fear only resulted in becoming more fearful. 

Now that he thought about it, he'd always been afraid of the dark - ever since the night of Regulus' birth. Waking up one morning to find a baby in the bed next to his, screaming for attention and a cluster of adults around his tiny, shaking form. Things had never been the same for Sirius after that. His parents bestowed all of their love and affection on Regulus, the new hope of the Black family. Expectations of Sirius had died long ago, they'd lost all faith that he might eventually grow into a son they could be proud of when he'd said - "Daddy, can I write to Andromeda? She's really nice." 

After that, they'd shunted him into the blackness - giving him his own room in the darkest, bleakest corner of an unfriendly house at the best of times. At meal times, he sat in the most worn down chair, cast out in the shadows from the rest of his family. Even when relatives came to visit, Sirius would be introduced last, and in a quick voice to make it seem as though he'd never existed. 

He would've liked to have pretended that this didn't bother him, that his family meant nothing to him in a world where he was among the brightest stars of the future, but he couldn't. That wasn't his way. All these years, Sirius had seemed cowardly in the dark, lacked courage without a guiding light. But if he was truthful, he knew that it wasn't actually the dark that frightened him. 

It was the forces that lay behind it. 

The nakedness. The exposure. That horrible sensation of being stripped to the bare bones of your body, and lying in wait for whatever was around the corner with a knowing sense of vulnerability. That was what scared him. 

Worst of all was the fear. Fear had been following Sirius since the day that Regulus entered the world. Creeping up behind him, retreading his footsteps, and yet doing it so slightly that Sirius could never catch it. And without it in his grasp, he could never defeat it. So he began to think up ways to trick fear - face up to the inevitability of loneliness. 

He'd make up characters to play games with, to add to his family. He'd use existing people, friends and enemies, and do things to them in his dreams that he'd never dare do out in the castle. They'd kiss. Hug. Touch. Something that Sirius was sure would defeat the fear, conquer it completely. That was why he was scared of this confession box. He didn't want to admit to what he'd been doing for the past nine years. Because it would mean admitting that fear existed, that he'd been fooling himself, and the Sirius Black he'd become during his time in Gryffindor would never admit he was wrong, much less afraid. 

"Bless me, father," he found himself saying softly, breaking an intense silence in the booth. "For I have sinned. Thought of acts which would disgust your mind to the very brink of Hell - so much so that I fear you would desire to throw me to the fiery pits of Satan himself." 

He strained his ears, but could hear nothing from the otherside. Mockridge had probably put a silencing charm on the box...very clever, especially since he knew that someone like Sirius would doubtless try to break it straight away. Then, he heard a dim reply, muffled by the sound of the velvet curtain that hung between him and the person on the otherside. Not one to allow any light to interrupt his projects, Mockridge had made sure the material was of the blackest colour possible, insulating any passing brightness, and also making the room uncomfortably hot. 

"You are forgiven, child. Pray, tell me your sins and our Lord above will forever hold you in his merciful gratitude." 

Sirius lifted his collar from his neck, flapping the air with his spare hand. The sweat on his brow seemed to have doubled in the last few seconds alone. He wondered who was behind the curtain. Whose voice seemed so soft and gentle...almost enticing. Why should he tell this unknown person about everything wrong that he'd ever done? More importantly, why should they care...unless they too were participating in Mockridge's class assignment. 

"Are you a student?" Sirius voiced his thoughts aloud. "Like me..." 

The curtain seemed to rattle slightly, and Sirius edged back, unnerved. He was right; he'd known it from the start. 

"Tell me of your sins, child," the voice repeated, a tad more shakily. Now Sirius was sure he'd guessed correctly. If he hadn't, the voice would have remained the same. Why was it so important that he knew who he was speaking to him? 

It mattered because he could be telling his deepest, darkest secrets to someone who he detested, who would betray him in the flick of an eye. Sirius didn't like the muggle way of doing things - trusting someone who lay in wait behind a piece of material, with the brain of a fox, and the head of a snake. It was unnatural. 

Then, a strong smell of rose petals overcame his thoughts. They felt so good...so nice - warm and comforting. Sirius thought they smelled a little like James' house in the mornings after they'd caved in to his parents pleadings to clean up the living room. Inviting...accepting... 

"I have thought of kisses, father," said Sirius, thinking back to how Mockridge had told him to address the other person in the confessional. "Of kisses...with other people..." 

"Why do you think of this, child? What makes you replay these moments of sin repeatedly in your head?" 

Swallowing, Sirius ran a hand down the curtain. He was shaking, cold sweat now pouring down his face. Scared, he spoke quietly once more. "Because of my fears, father." 

"Fears?" 

"I...My family doesn't love me, I'm forced to stay with the Potters. I'm afraid of being alone...I make up for it with my dreams." 

The curtain shook again. "Dreams?" 

"I have provocative dreams, father. Of kisses...with even my arch rivals." 

Suddenly, the curtain rattled backward, and even through the blackness, Sirius could see that he was staring into the cold, slate grey eyes of none other than Lucius Malfoy. 

"Even me?" he asked maliciously, touching a hand to Sirius' robes. 

Sirius was paralised by both the warmth, and the smell and the fear. So he did the only thing he could. He nodded. "Yes." 

"And what does it feel like, Black?" Malfoy grasped a fistful of material, and pulled Sirius close to him. So close that Sirius could almost touch him...taste him. "To know that I'm the hope of your future?" 

"But you're not..." Breathed Sirius in return, unable to remove his eyes from Malfoy's vindictive stare. "You're not what I want to be." 

Malfoy snorted. "No? Then why dream of me, of all the forbidden pleasures that are so far from your pitiful reach?" He tilted his face toward Sirius. "I am the product of your illusions, Black. I'm what you need to dissolve the fear." Sliding his free hand to the back of Sirius' neck, he spoke in a voice of deadly quiet. "Take me now, and you need never experience that pain again. There will be no more reveries, no more fantasies. You will hold your fears in your hand, and you will have defeated them." 

Restraining himself required all the willpower that Sirius could muster. "I..." Their lips were almost touching, he was so close now to achieving his goal, to having a substitute for the vacant shells that consumed him... 

"What do you say, Black?" 

"No." Sirius pulled away suddenly, and shook his head. "No," he repeated, watching the contemptuous look on Malfoy's face with a small amount of satisfaction. "Because if you're going to be what defeats my loneliness, then I'd rather have my visions." He gave a sad smile. "You're cold, Lucius. Void, callous, and vile. If I surrender my thoughts to you, then I'll lose everything." 

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "Someday, Black, you're going to regret refusing my advances. And when that day comes - " he touched Sirius' cheek with his chilled fingers, forcing a vengeful smirk, " - I'm going to make you pay." He slipped to the other side of the curtain. "You are forgiven, child," he whispered maliciously, turning to face the outer wall of the box. 

Sirius too turned back, placing a hand on the doorknob. He knew by instinct that Malfoy's threats were empty and random, but he did wonder, if behind that pompous air of malice, there was a hint of truth in his words. However, he didn't have much time to contemplate this. 

"Well done, Mr Black." Professor Mockridge clapped him on the back. "You were in there a bit longer than I would've liked, but you got through." He made a small mark on his clipboard sheet. "Take ten points for Gryffindor." 

"Uh...sir?" Sirius stared down at his feet. This was the most embarrassing question he'd ever had to ask. "Did you...did you hear what I said in there?" 

Professor Mockridge pushed his glasses slightly higher up on the bridge of his nose, and Sirius was able to see the piercing gaze that lay behind them. "Whatever you said in that box was confidential between yourself and the opposing student. I mearly listen for the words of forgiveness, and score you depending on your willingness to conform to the task. I have no interest in what goes on in your personal life, Black." He smiled. "Now go and wait over there, I've got sixteen more students to see through this, and have no wish to be interrupted." 

Sirius turned to go. 

"And Black?" 

He paused. "Yes, sir?" 

"Give me back that necklace." 

As Sirius crossed the classroom, James patted his shoulder. "Well done mate - told you that you'd pass this. Wait until we tell Peter - his face is going to look like one of Snape's pet rats!" 

Sirius mearly nodded. He was watching the angry purple clouds that had formed above the lake. Cold drops of fury spilled from them, dripping upon the water into pools, and soft ripples flowing across the darkness. 

End 

Author's Notes: For anyone who's still reading, I salute you. And for anyone who cares, Mockridge is mentioned in the passing in 'Goblet of Fire' as head of the Goblin Liaison Office , so I decided to make him a muggle studies professor. Questions? No? Good. Happy holidays to you all! 


End file.
